Stains

There was something I felt was really important about the worms stretched long and thin across the sidewalks, choking for air in the rain last night; we all need different things. My enjoyment of the weather was a death struggle for worms and we are all ignorant of one another in that same way. Isolation surrounds us while we reach out hoping for that special spark of recognition, of mutuality... I woke up this morning with a stain on my hand that isn't washing away. I mean that literally and I don't know what it is. I dreamed of a scab and I was peeling away layer after layer of coagulated blood, lymph, and leukocytes sacrificed for the greater good of the body, the temple. Peeling and prying away, trying to get to the bottom of things, trying to find the point at which the wound was made underneath that mountain of reconstruction, trying to find that point from which healing would ultimately begin.

Thanks to the friend for listening to the ravings of a mad woman alone in the night.